


like a 13 year old virgin at a school mixer

by spirograph



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirograph/pseuds/spirograph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Uh," says Raylan. It isn't his proudest moment, sprawled out half-drunk and undignified on the couch, squinting up through the weak motel light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a 13 year old virgin at a school mixer

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this on [jeanquirieplus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wireless/pseuds/jeanquirieplus). It's all her fault. Including the title.

"Uh," says Raylan. It isn't his proudest moment, sprawled out half-drunk and undignified on the couch, squinting up through the weak motel light. 

Hip cocked and looking surly, Tim stares right back. "You're a mess," a statement of fact. Raylan can't even bring himself to disagree; he can feel the trail of bourbon he'd spilled down his front earlier getting tacky on his chin. 

Tim's cheeks are flushed. He's been down at the Veteran's club again. Raylan knows, almost with certainty, that he's probably spent the evening drinking everyone under the table. He'll never understand how such a slender body can absorb so much alcohol but then, there are a lot of things which Raylan Givens will never understand. Like the totally inappropriate way his cock twitches at the thought of Tim's lips, shiny and wet, wrapped around the mouth of a beer bottle. He barely has time to register the thought (and the shock that follows) before Tim is moving - sauntering, if Raylan's really honest about it - heel toe heel toe and approaching with definite intent.

Now, Raylan is not a genius, but he likes to think of himself as a relatively clever man, especially when it comes to reading people. But this? This he did not see coming. Okay, well. That could be a lie. Once or twice, he may or may not have found himself a little distracted by Tim's hands. Only a little, mind. Raylan winces. Okay, a lot. 

Suddenly Tim is right there in front of him, the bulb in the centre of the ceiling perfectly aligned with the back of his head and creating a halo – like he's some kind of god-damn angel. _Defend us in battle_ , Raylan thinks, before he can stop himself and Christ Almighty, is he ever fucked. He tries not to let it show on his face, the absolute and desperate rush of desire he feels at the thought of Tim's body pressed flush up against him. Only, the alcohol has completely demolished his defences and he isn't fast enough to rearrange his features into an expression of nonchalance before Tim is grinning down at him, all teeth, the lines of worry on his face transforming instantly into something softer, happier. 

It shouldn't shock Raylan as much as it does to see Tim's features relax into such an easy, open kind of joy. But the truth is that most of the time Tim only has a set handful of emotions that Raylan can read, and they range from Furious to Surly to Apathetic, and nothing in between has the potential to involve a smile spreading across his face, not even for a second. Raylan feels almost honoured. 

With a leg on either side of his thighs, Tim lowers himself down onto his knees, onto Raylan's lap, and Raylan wonders how this happened – how Tim managed to get inside his brain and work out exactly what Raylan has been pretending doesn't exist for over a year. 

Warm puff of breath against his ear Tim whispers, "Have at it, cowboy." And Raylan might have laughed if it weren't for the solid weight of a competent killer in his lap, grinding down slightly and practically panting against his cheek, his dick hard in his pants and screaming yes yes yes. Raylan should probably be confused – honestly, he should probably have some kind of existential crisis because he _really likes women_ and _Tim is a man_. But fuck, if this doesn't already feel a thousand times more exciting than being with Ava ever did. He hopes it's not because of the way Tim can handle a gun, because then he might really have some issues.

“Stop thinking,” Tim says, punctuating his words with the press of lips to Raylan's neck, right over the stammering beat of his heart. 

Raylan performs a quick reassessment of the situation and concludes that he must be a lot more drunk than he thought, because all of a sudden Tim's shirt is open and it's sliding easily off his shoulders and onto to the floor, giving Raylan the perfect opportunity to put his hands on the bare skin beneath. Tim gasps and finally – Raylan will over analyse why it feels like he's been waiting for this forever at a later date – leans down and presses their mouths together. And maybe it's the shit-tonne of whiskey sloshing about in his veins, but Raylan is damn sure that he's going to fall apart, lips parting to let Tim tongue the inside of his mouth, messy and beer-tasting and even better than he ever imagined. A moan forces its way out of his throat, low and more desperate than he'll ever admit and Tim grins against his mouth, rolls his hips and yanks at the buttons of Raylan's shirt. Raylan doesn't think they're going to have time to get naked, he's already stupidly close to coming in his pants like a god damn teenager and he is so far past giving a fuck that he'll probably actually do it. 

He tangles his fingers in Tim's hair, grips hard enough that it probably hurts, and deepens the kiss. Tim's teeth scrape painfully against his lip but he doesn't care, doesn't even hesitate when Tim grabs his free hand and guides it to the front of his jeans, helps him get the buttons undone in a rush and suddenly--

suddenly. 

Raylan almost blacks out, because suddenly his fingers are wrapped awkwardly around Tim's cock. It's smooth and hot and when he swipes his thumb over the head he smears pre-come everywhere and Tim moans, thrusting into his fist. It's possibly the sexiest thing Raylan's ever seen or felt in his whole life. His cock agrees, hips pressing up as Tim grinds down, all rhythmless and eager, grasping tightly at Raylan's shoulder to try and steady himself. “Close,” Tim breathes, dropping a clumsy kiss at the corner of Raylan's mouth, and there's nothing Raylan can do anymore but ride it out and accept the fact that Tim is going to come all over his hand and his shirt while Raylan probably comes in his pants like he's fourteen. Raylan tightens his grip on Tim's cock and grins when Tim arches his back. 

It's going to be the best damn thing that's happened to Raylan Givens all year, bar none.


End file.
